


this thing, for which we break

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe this is <i>exactly</i> what Dean has always wanted from him. Maybe Sam wanted it too and was just never brave enough to admit it in the harsh light of day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this thing, for which we break

He feels Dean's weight plaster itself across his back, in the pretense of sharing warmth in the cool darkness. It's a heavy blackness that blankets the room. "You're shivering, Sammy," Dean's husky voice, hushed in respect of the silence, though there's no one to disturb.

Dean had zipped their sleeping bags together when it was clear that the woodpile outside the cabin was too wet to ignite. There's no way to light a fire and the wind is howling through the cracks. Sam shimmies lower into the cocoon they've made, dragging the heavy sleeping bag up over their heads, presses back into the heat of his brother.

One of Dean's arms circles Sam's waist, palm flattened against his belly and strokes up, down, up, these soothing motions that do nothing to alleviate the shivers going through Sam's lanky frame.

Sam had thought that this _thing_ would disappear with his adolescence, this thing where he can't lay beside his brother without touching. This thing where his skin would start humming and his cock would grow urgently heavy in his pants. It's not something they've ever taken anywhere really, not unless you count the wet dreams Sam had when he was a teenager, waking up with his spent cock pushed into the firm muscle of Dean's thigh. Dean would be lying there silently with his arms over his head, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath panting out in shocky little bursts, his own cock tenting his sweats.

They don't talk about it. And for the most part, it stays hidden in the dark, close places. Sam doesn't look at Dean in the daylight and see someone he wants to fuck. Dean doesn't make excuses to touch Sam in wrong ways. But when the need arises, and they share space, just the _feel_ of Dean ramps Sam up, some strange tactile experience that gets his juices flowing.

This is the first time since Sam's been back. He had honestly thought it would go away, some strange hormonal aberration that would disappear with more sexual experience. But now he's lying here, Dean plastered to his back and his cock is blood-heavy with the excitement of it all. Dean has his pelvis angled away from Sam so he's pretty sure that his brother is just as hard as he is. And it seems that the only thing his sexual evolution has done for this is make him curious where it could go.

With a boldness that he didn't possess before, Sam reaches behind him and grips Dean's thigh, angles back and pushes his ass flush against Dean's crotch. If he hadn't found Dean hard, if Dean hadn't groaned in response, it could have been a really embarrassing moment. Dean pants out a warm, raspy breath into the nape of Sam's neck, hums a little before splaying his hand possessively over the flat of Sam's belly and humping forward again. "Feels nice, Sammy," Dean mumbles, nosing in behind Sam's ear.

A shuddering breath hitches its way past Sam's lips, his body humming with sensation, stomach clenching under the warm press of Dean's palm. "Yeah," he responds, voice low and strained. His grip on Dean's thigh tightens just a shade before he removes it and brings it to the hand Dean has on him. He laces his long fingers with Dean's and pulls it lower. Dean hesitates for just a second, fingertips skimming the waistband of Sam's sweats, but it's so brief a pause that Sam might've imagined it. Then Dean's hand dips inside, smooth and sure.

The first touch of Dean's fingers curling around his heated cock has Sam gasping, back arching in pleasure. Dean grunts at Sam's response and pushes his groin tighter against Sam's ass. Dean's grip tightens and he lets his mouth fall open on the back of Sam's neck, tongue flicking out to lick and taste.

Sam has no way of knowing if Dean has ever jerked off any other guys, he's pretty sure that no matter what he does, it's going to feel freaking amazing. Fingers and palm slip-slide over and down, precome smearing along his length, smoothing the way for rough calluses. Perfect grip, not too loose, not too tight, and maybe Dean likes it just the same way that Sam does, which makes sense in some really uncomfortable way, because they're brothers after all.

It would be easy for him to come just like this, but Dean's back there, riding the curve of Sam's ass. It won't be enough to get Dean off, Sam knows. Grappling through his haze of arousal, Sam weighs all of his options. Every place in contact with Dean's body feels set on fire. Sam wants more of that and thinks he knows just how to get it.

Sam slips two fingers into his mouth, groans around them while he slicks them sloppy wet with saliva. It's not until Sam reaches around, tilting his hips away from Dean's thrusting hips to insinuate his hand between them that his brother falters. Dean's breath catches just as Sam works his hand down the back of his sweats. He's done this before, but only alone, only in private where he could explore his body. The press of his fingers against his tight hole makes him jerk and moan, his dick jumping in Dean's loosened grip. "Shit, Sam," Dean groans. "What're you doin'?"

A low groan is the only answer Sam can give as the tips of his fingers breach the tight ring of his inner muscles. He works the digits inside with a sharp shove, feels himself quiver when Dean gives him another long, slow stroke. The pad of Dean's thumb swipes through the weeping slit teasingly, Dean's mouth open and panting against Sam's neck. He feels the scrape of teeth as Dean's fingers move lower, curve around the heaviness of his balls.

Dean grips Sam's thigh, drags it up over his own, making room for Dean's hand to go even lower. Sam's shoulder muscles protest the awkward bend of his arm, but he ignores it and starts pumping his fingers in and out of his hole. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, but it doesn't stop the groan when he glances against his prostate.

Dean's fingers curl down until the tips are just brushing the knuckles of Sam's hand, right where he's penetrating himself. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean grits out, bites roughly into the meat of Sam's neck. He wiggles the tip of his index finger against Sam's digits and the tight muscle gives with a slow burn, Dean's finger shimmying in right next to Sam's two. Three is more than Sam's ever had and he feels stretched and open. They move together, as they always do, sliding in and out, swirling and dipping and scissoring and Sam's focus narrows down to the feel of it. Thickness up inside him, skimming over sensitive skin with a billion nerve endings all clamoring for more.

"Feel good, Sammy?" Dean pants out, gravel voice all wrecked with wanting. Sam throws his head back and groans in response, twists his fingers again and sucks in gasping breaths. "Gonna let me in, Sam?"

"Want you to," Sam breathes, head still swimming with sensation, cock _so hard_ and dripping from the tip. He twists his head to the side, sweaty hair getting in his eyes as he rubs his forehead against Dean's. "Do it."

There are no words to describe the sound Dean makes then, sticky-wet lips trembling against Sam's cheek. Dean carefully, but quickly, pulls his finger out, all fumbling haste as he gets Sam's sweats shoved down. Reluctantly, Sam pulls his own fingers out, feeling empty and bereft for the brief moment it takes Dean to get his dick slicked up with a couple of palmfuls of spit.

Sam thinks it's a little strange that Dean doesn't ask if he's sure, doesn't even hesitate to roll Sam onto his stomach and nudge the head of his cock between his cheeks. And then Sam can't think anymore, because it's there at his hole, pressing steadily and punching in. It's bigger than Sam thought it would be and for one heart-stopping second, it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. Actually, it burns like fire all the way in, stretching Sam open and it feels like forever before Dean bottoms out with a groan.

They stop right there, both of them panting through the sensation and adjusting to the feel. Sam can feel Dean inside of him, _inside of him_ , and it's such a bizarre feeling, not exactly good, but not exactly bad either. Just incredibly full.

"Sammy," Dean breathes into his ear, presses a small kiss just behind, so brief it's almost tender. "You feel so good, baby. God, can't believe you're letting me."

"Dean, _fucking move already_ ," Sam grits out between clenched teeth.

Like he was waiting for permission, Dean rocks back a little, slides out just the tiniest bit before shoving back in. He makes this humming noise into Sam's skin and starts these deep, shallow thrusts that send sparks through every bit of Sam's body. His toes are curling, his thighs spreading to take it deeper, knees caught up by the lowered waist of his sweats. Dean wraps one arm under Sam and pulls him up into the next thrust, shifting their positions just enough that his cock slides right over Sam's prostate. "Oh!" Sam shouts in surprise and jerks back. "Right there, fuck, Dean, just like that."

Sam starts babbling, begging for it like some hungry little cockslut, and he supposes that's exactly what he is. His back arches, Dean easily molding himself into the dip, plastering himself all over Sam as his hips pick up the pace. Dean's strokes lengthen, sliding further out on each pass until Sam only has the head holding him open for the next push. He's not wet enough or stretched enough for it to be smooth, nothing but a layer of dried spit between them, skin catching friction and he's going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but Sam can't bring himself to care. Dean's losing it behind him, fucking into him raggedly, not even a hint of rhythm left between, but that makes it somehow better.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," starts falling from Dean's lips along with other little bits of filth that have Sam fucking himself back on Dean's cock. He's braced on his forearms, taking almost every pound of Dean's weight, head swimming under every bright spark of pleasure. And he's rocking himself back brutally, reveling in the way Dean fills him up.

Dean's hand slaps down on Sam's bare hip, fingers grasping him so tight they're biting bruises into his flesh and he stills Sam's movements with a grunt of effort. "Wait. Wait. Slow the fuck down," Dean demands, his thick, gruff voice tickling Sam's ear. "Waited so long, don't want this over too fast."

A groan of frustration breaks deep from Sam's throat, his head sags heavy on his neck. Sam's half-past ready to get off, but can't really argue with Dean. It's been a long time coming, this. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Apparently Sam's agreement was all Dean needed to start moving again, thank god. Only this time it's slow. He rolls his hips into Sam, cock shifting inside, a short undulation that has Sam biting at his lip. He can feel Dean _everywhere_. "Sammy," Dean sighs into the dark place at Sam's neck, nuzzles his forehead against Sam's jaw. "Sammy."

Sam has never heard Dean sound this way, all broken up and just clinging to the slippery edge. There's the barest hint of reverence, a soft plea hanging onto each sweet utterance of Sam's name falling from Dean's lips. And it's like Dean doesn't even know he's doing it, laying himself bare in the space of a few whispers. The enormity of what they're doing hits Sam fiercely in that moment, just as Dean glides against that sweet spot inside him. And while he writhes on the other end of Dean's deep, churning thrusts, Sam starts to suspect that he had it all wrong. Maybe this is _exactly_ what Dean has always wanted from him. Maybe Sam wanted it too and was just never brave enough to admit it in the harsh light of day.

Whatever. It's happening now, this old new thing, collapsing around their heads. It has their bodies syncing up, smooth as a waltz, like they do on a hunt. Dean inside of Sam, using that body that he's used on countless women when it never meant more than getting off. And, _goddamn_ , Dean is good at this. Like every time before has just been practice for this, like Dean was in training for years to fuck Sam exactly the way he needed to be fucked when the day came that they couldn't hold back any longer.

Dean's cock fucks so deep into him that Sam can feel the soft press of their balls smashed together. They're both panting into the sleeping bag, filling it with hot breath and shattered moans. Sam grinds his eyes into his forearms, wipes the warm tear tracks away and gives himself to the harsh trembling in his bones. He's close and he tells Dean, "Gonna come, fuck, Dean."

Sam bites on his lower lip to stave it off, to give Dean that little bit longer he asked for. But Dean just groans and punches his hips rougher against Sam, slams a little harder in. "Yeah, Sammy. Let go for me, wanna feel you."

Dean's hand moves around Sam's hip, calluses catching at all of Sam's fine hairs, until his palm is cupped around the base of Sam's cock. He couldn't hold back then for anything. It works its way up from Sam's balls, makes his dick jump and twitch in his brother's hand while he spills. Dean fucks him through it, staying slow and delicious, even as Sam clenches up around him. And when Dean comes right after him, it's not a violent rush like Sam's, it's Dean stilling as deep as he can. It's Dean's come warming and slicking him up good and filthy. It's Dean sighing into his skin like he's finally found peace. God, it's _everything_.


End file.
